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RY  PERMISSION  OF  MISS  A  LICK  BROWN,  FROM 
HER     BIOGRAPHY    OF    LOUISE     IMOGEN  GUINEY 


CONSIDERATIONS  ON 

Engraving 

BY  TIMOTHY  COLE 


NEW  YORK 
WILLIAM  EDWIN  RUDGE 
192  1 


l! his  address  was  delivered  by  Mr.  Cole 
at  the  opening  view  of  an  Exhibition  of 
Old  Prints,  April  6,  1921,  given  by  The 
American  Institute  of  Graphic  Arts  and 
^he  National  Arts  Club.  Mr.  Burton 
Emmet  t,  member  in  charge. 


CONSIDERATIONS  ON 
ENGRAVING 


HE  arts  of  industry  and  commerce 
are,  of  course,  among  the  first  pur- 
suits in  this  mundane  constitution 
of  things  because,  naturally,  with- 
out bread — without  at  least  the 
gross  groceries  of  existence — we 
can  have  but  little  stomach  for  the 
higher  realms  of  fancy  or  imagination — for  poetry  and 
the  fine  arts.  It  is  as  true  that  man  shall  not  live  by 
bread  alone  (and  he  takes  pretty  good  care  that  he  shall 
not)  as  it  is  that  in  the  sweat  of  his  brow  he  shall  earn 
it  (and,  in  the  natural  order  of  the  division  of  labor,  his 
interest  seems  to  be  in  letting  the  other  fellow  do  the 
sweating).  But  after  he  awakens  to  the  realization  of 
the  embarrassment  of  owning  things,  and  that  he  him- 
self is  owned  by  a  house  and  lot,  a  limousine,  yacht, 
aeroplane,  etc. — and  a  wife  of  course — he  discovers  he 
has  higher  wants. 

He  is  the  only  creature  under  the  sun  forever  exclaim- 
ing, "I  want — I  don't  know  what  I  want!"  which  ab- 
surdly healthful  condition  is  certainly  a  very  excellent 
thing.  It  is  requisite  and  salutary  as  a  promoter  of 
business,  stimulates  to  the  owning  of  things,  and  inci- 
dentally causes  the  sun  to  shine  more  brightly  and  love 
to  glow  more  fervently,  if  only  he  can  keep  the  cash 
a-going,  and  if  only  he  can  keep  his  spirit  up  and  doesn't 

i 


CONSIDERATIONS  ON 

look  backward  and  sigh  for  former  good  old  times.  "Say 
not,"  saith  the  Preacher,  "that  the  former  days  were 
better  than  these,  for  thou  dost  not  inquire  wisely  con- 
cerning this." 

We  must  endeavor  always  and  forever  to  keep  a-going. 
Man's  glory  is  in  going,  not  in  being,  unless  indeed  his 
being  finds  its  essential  raison  d'etre  in  going,  as  a  top 
which  keeps  its  perpendicular  state  by  spinning.  The 
world  spins  and  so  do  we,  and  the  faster  we  spin  the 
steadier  we  shall  be,  and  it  is  the  thinkers  who  are  the 
steadiest  and  who  do  the  spinning  for  us — of  yarns 
mostly ! 

"Say  not  that  the  former  days  were  better  than  these" 
sounds  very  like  a  note  of  optimism  in  that  pessimistic 
book  of  the  Preacher,  but  it  doesn't  say  that  these  later 
days  are  any  better  than  the  former,  nor  does  it  imply 
that  we  are  making  any  progress — forging  ahead  to 
reach  finally  a  certain  goal  of  unmentionable  bliss,  a 
fool's  paradise  where  we  can  knock  around  and  do  noth- 
ing. We  take  our  lesson  from  the  suns  and  planets  that 
are  going  forever  through  boundless  space — lucky  for 
us  that  they  can  keep  on  going  and  never  arrive  any- 
where— the  unthinkable  thing  being  not  that  space  is 
endless,  but  that  it  should  have  any  end.  So  the  true 
artist  keeps  on  a-going,  but  never  arrives. 

Some  there  are  who  hit  upon  something  and — stop 
a-going.  But  with  the  true  artist  love  propels  and  beauty 
beckons  eternally.  He  never  stays  to  reason  why,  his  is 
"but  to  do  and  die."  Whether  his  art  tends  to  the  amelio- 
ration and  adornment  of  life  is  of  no  immediate  concern 
to  him.  If  it  is  so,  then  to  him  it  is  a  side  issue — a  by- 

2 


ENGRAVING 


product.  He  has  no  time  or  inclination  to  consider  the 
good  of  society.  He  leaves  that  to  the  socialists  or  the 
bolsheviki,  and  gives  little  heed  even  to  pecuniary  con- 
siderations— the  art  dealers  kindly  relieve  him  in  this 
matter.  He  forgets  the  days — and  also  his  creditors. 
He  would  live  in  eternity's  sunrise. 

What  matters  if  his  late  hours  prevent  him  from  ever 
beholding  the  dawn  when  "the  lark  at  heaven's  gate 
sings  and  Phoebus  'gins  arise  ?"  What  matters  since  he 
carries  the  sunrise  within  him  and  the  vapors  of  the 
mountain  dew — or  some  other  brand.  The  creation  that 
he  is  inthethroes  of  delivering  himself  of  sways  him  ever 
with  the  sentiment  of  "art  for  art's  sake."  He  is  a  pro- 
found egoist — self-centered — the  point  around  which 
all  things  else  revolve.  This  virtue  carries  with  it  its 
own  reward :  "the  art  is  to  the  artist  and  comes  back  most 
to  him."  The  painting  is  to  the  painter  and  comes  back 
most  to  him — and  it  certainly  does  come  back  most  to 
him  when  his  canvas  is  rejected  by  the  jury  on  selection ! 
He  then  finds  himself  in  no  mood  to  consider  the 
pursuit  of  beauty  as  among  the  noblest  employments 
and  purest  enjoyments  of  this  life. 

There  are  many  who  believe,  and  we  doubtless  will 
agree  with  them,  that  only  through  the  power  and  benef- 
icence of  beauty  will  the  world  ever  be  saved — that  the 
brutish  element  so  rampant  in  the  world  and  as  yet  in- 
sensate to  its  influence  will  be  downed.  We  artists  are, 
of  course,  the  saviours,  and  it's  probably  a  jolly  good 
thing  for  the  world — and  for  us  in  particular — that  the 
brute  is  not  yet  entirely  extinct.  He  keeps  us  on  the  go 
at  any  rate.  The  musicians  are  anxiously  soothing  his 

3 


CONSIDERATIONS  ON 


savage  breast.  They've  tried  Bach  and  Beethoven,  but 
the  more  modern  remedies  of  rag-time  and  the  jazz 
stuff,  seem  to  be  more  calming  to  his  nerves.  The  paint- 
ers, who  arrogate  to  themselves  all  beauty,  pander  to  his 
barbaric  eye  for  color,  and  give  him  what  he  wants, 
since  he  must  at  any  cost  be  appeased.  The  drama,  from 
Hamlet  to  the  movies,  reports  great  success.  Poetry,  by 
its  lines,  is  trying  new  stunts  on  him,  and  even  the  en- 
gravers— those  who,  with  their  lines,  went  in  for  tone, 
seemed  to  have  made  some  headway,  till  they  discov- 
ered that  nobody,  least  of  all  the  brute,  cared  for 
their  lines,  that  the  only  line  of  beauty  the  brute  appre- 
ciated was  the  line  of  the  dollar  sign. 

"The  dollar  sign  is  beauty's  line" — as  he  jocosely 
rhymes  it — and  so  the  bank  bill  for  his  edification  is  still 
engraved  by  order  of  the  government;  for  the  brute  is 
the  government's  first  concern.  Imagine,  by  the  way, 
this  government  establishing  a  bureau  for  the  engraving 
of  old  masters,  as  they  have  in  France !  And  yet  we  call 
this  place  God's  own  country !  But  France  takes  the  lead. 
It  is  only  the  brute  who  still  sings:  "Foremost  of  na- 
tions, Columbia  stands." 

Nature  seems  in  league  with  art  to  tame  the  brute, 
for  she  raises  up  beautiful  woman,  the  most  potent  fac- 
tor in  his  amelioration.  "A  beautiful  woman,"  says 
Emerson,  "is  a  picture  which  drives  all  beholders  nobly 
mad" — a  sentence  undoubtedly  pregnant  with  imag- 
ination but  assuming  a  nobility  in  the  brute  that  facts 
generally  do  not  seem  to  acknowledge.  Often  the  brute 
because  of  the  beaut  does  go  mad,  but  then  we  account 
it  very  ignoble  in  him,  and  we  blame  the  brute  but  not 


4 


ENGRAVING 

the  beaut.  But  the  brute  is  beauty's  most  concern  since  he 
alone  is  the  object  that  needs  her  saving  ministrations. 

There  is  a  deeper  truth  in  the  old  adage  "handsome  is 
as  handsome  does"  than  is  generally  accorded  to  it,  for 
beauty  that  does  not — act,  that  does  not — inspire,  is 
dead,  or  rather  is  not  beauty  at  all.  The  mystery  and 
wonder  of  life  finds  its  supremest  expression  and  charm, 
beyond  which  it  is  incapable  of  proceeding,  only  when 
functioning  through  beauty.  Beauty  undoubtedly  is  a 
spiritual  influence,  but  whether  it  comes  to  us  from 
without  or  springs  up  from  within  us,  need  never  with 
certainty  be  demonstrated.  Certain  it  is,  however,  that 
we  react  to  its  action  according  to  the  degree  of  our  sen- 
sitiveness, and  it  is  the  province  of  art  to  open  our  eyes 
to  the  beauty  in  which  we  are  immersed,  to  render  us 
more  tremulously  sensitive  and  impressionable  to  the  in- 
fluence of  the  beautiful  "in  landscape  and  in  sky  and 
tender  to  the  spirit  touch  in  man's  and  maiden's  eye." 

And  what  is  that  spirit  touch — the  very  essence  of  all 
loveliness  in  man  or  woman  (lacking  which  all  physical 
beauty  is  only  humbug) — but thee)^eof  candor?  Happy 
indeed  is  the  man  wedded  to  a  mate  who  is  equally,  in 
her  turn,  wedded  to  sincerity;  whom  thus  fortune  fixes 
above  him  as  his  lady,  there  eternally  to  reprove  him, 
and  whom  he  can  love  and  venerate  at  the  same  time — 
his  Madonna. 

Beauty  is  depicted  by  the  Greeks  as  riding  upon  a 
beast.  The  Greeks  are  full  of  symbolism,  and  the  impli- 
cation here  seems  to  point  to  the  fact  that  the  spiritual 
is  founded  upon  the  natural,  even  as  it  grows  out  of, 
and  is  as  inseparable  from  it  as  body  and  soul.  The 

5 


CONSIDERATIONS  ON 

artist,  naturally,  acquires  first  his  technique  before  he 
can  give  body  to  his  conceptions.  Art  not  only  rides 
upon  technique  but  in  it,  since  they  are  one,  as  force  and 
matter,  and  are  inconceivable  as  existing  alone  as  entities. 

To  profess  no  interest  in  the  technique  of  art  is  to 
have  no  interest  whatever  in  art.  If  we  take  from  a  poem 
its  metre,  its  rhythm  and  its  words,  or  from  an  engrav- 
ing or  etching  its  lines,  the  conception  of  the  one  or 
the  poetic  thought  of  the  other  does  not,  as  some  opine, 
remain  behind;  there  remains  nothing.  The  poetry  or 
engraving  is  born  simultaneously  with  those  lines,  those 
words,  that  rhythm,  and  that  metre.  Art,  therefore, 
like  the  force  and  matter  of  the  physical  world,  is 
inseparable  and  inconceivable  apart  from  its  physical 
substance.  Therefore,  it  must  be  emphasized  also  that 
intuition  and  expression,  fancy  and  technique,  or  more 
plainly,  art  and  matter,  may  be  rationally  distinguished, 
though  not  as  separate  elements  of  art,  since  in  art  they 
coalesce.  "First  the  natural,  afterwards  the  spiritual", 
and  so  must  the  artist  have  the  wherewithal  before  he 
can  indulge  the  muse.  Our  various  art  alliances  have  this 
well  in  view  in  their  encouragement  of  the  pursuit  of 
beauty,  for  they  instinctively  recognize  the  fact  that 
"money  makes  the  mare  go,"  or  the  beast  move  on  which 
beauty  sits. 

It  goes  without  saying  that  the  artist  must  ride  his 
beast  and  not  be  ridden  by  it — must  guide  and  domi- 
nate it — for  in  no  other  way  will  his  Pegasus,  invigorated 
and  inspired  (by  a  little  material  encouragement,  you 
know),  wing  him  on  his  upward  way.  First  the  natural, 
afterwards  the  spiritual.  But  as  the  natural  is  only  food 

6 


ENGRAVING 

to  the  spiritual,  it  would  be  placing  the  cart  before  the 
horse  to  give  the  natural  or  material  the  preference  over 
and  above  the  spiritual.  Our  material  appointments 
and  laborious  businesses  are  to  the  end  that  we  may 
crown  it  all  by,  say,  a  quiet  moment  with  a  book  or  in 
the  picture  gallery,  a  lecture  or  a  musicale,  or  some  such 
spiritual  treat  as  the  present  exhibition  of  wood-cuts 
and  wood-engravings. 

Engraving  on  wood  is  properly  considered  a  white- 
line  method  and  is  in  contradistinction  to  the  black-line 
method  employed  by  etchers  and  copper-plate  engravers. 
Pen-and-ink  drawing  is  black-lining  but  if,  contrariwise, 
you  use  white  ink  upon  black  paper  (as  it  is  often  em- 
ployed by  illustrators  now,  in  making  drawings  to  re- 
semble wood  engravings)  you  are  white-lining.  The 
white-liner  thinks  in  terms  of  white  lines,  letting  the 
black  that  is  left  take  care  of  itself,  but  the  reverse  is 
the  procedure  of  the  black-liner.  The  latter  is  occupied 
in  darkening  his  surface,  while  the  former  works  by 
lightening  his.  Both  are  opposite  roads  leading  to  the 
same  result  in  the  end,  though  the  white-line  method  is 
nature's  way,  for  the  sun  in  rising  lightens  up  a  dark- 
ened world. 

Now  the  old  wood-cut  of  the  Albert  Diirer  type  is 
properly  styled  a  wood-cut  and  should  not  be  confused 
with  engraving,  since  its  technical  manipulation,  being 
so  very  different,  as  we  all  know,  places  it  in  the  cate- 
gory of  wood-carving  rather  than  engraving.  The  lines 
were  drawn  on  the  wood  (the  grain  of  which  ran  length- 
wise in  plank  form)  with  a  finely  pointed  brush  or  quill 

7 


CONSIDERATIONS  ON 


pen,  and  ink.  The  surface  of  the  wood  (pear  tree  gen- 
erally) must  have  been  sized  to  prevent  the  ink  of  the 
pen  from  spreading  and  running  in  the  grain.  The  lead- 
pencil  was  not  yet  invented.  The  lines  drawn  could  not 
have  been  of  a  uniform  blackness  as  when  printed,  but 
the  artists  of  that  time  did  not  look  for  an  absolute 
reproduction  or  facsimile  of  their  lines  as  a  modern 
artist  would  call  for.  They  wanted  good,  bold  lines  that 
would  print  up  brilliantly,  as  may  be  seen  in  the  Apoca- 
lypse by  Diirer,  than  which  nothing  more  impressive  of 
its  kind  exists — respecting  the  best  printed  examples. 
The  printing  ink  of  these  is  a  jetty  black,  and  in  conse- 
quence the  white  interspaces  of  the  lines,  as  well  as  the 
blank  white  spaces  of  the  clouds  and  other  broad  high- 
lights, gleam  with  scintillating  brilliancy  and  contrib- 
ute powerfully  to  the  majestic  and  awe-inspiring  char- 
acter of  the  illustrations. 

The  wood-cutters  of  these  lines  used  little  blades  like 
pen-knives,  with  which  they  outlined  the  drawn  lines 
and,  digging  away  the  wood  from  between  them,  left  the 
lines  in  relief  like  type.  This  was  a  species  of  wood- 
work midway  between  carving  and  engraving.  When 
later  artists  began  to  use  lead-pencils  in  drawing  or  fac- 
simile hatching,  the  grey  lines  that  might  accidentally 
be  made  were  engraved  as  solid  black  ones ;  if  they  hap- 
pened to  be  broad  grey  lines  mixed  with  blacker  ones, 
the  breadth  of  the  grey  ones  was  merely  thinned  in  the 
engraving  to  obviate  any  undue  heaviness  that  might 
otherwise  ensue  in  the  printing.  Such  was  the  recog- 
nized practice:  grey  lines  were  not  engraved  as  grey 
lines,  but  as  black  ones,  only  made  thinner.  If  a  mod- 

8 


ENGRAVING 


ern  artist's  lines  were  so  treated,  he  would  receive  a  sur- 
prise in  the  printed  result. 

I  remember  the  first  facsimile  drawing  I  had  to  en- 
grave was  by  Reinhardt,  beautifully  worked  up  with 
admixtures  of  grey  delicate  hair  lines,  broad,  soft  pen- 
cilings  crossed  and  interlined  by  blacker  and  deep  black 
ones,  all  of  which  I  was  determined  to  render  as  faith- 
fully as  possible,  come  what  may — for  I  knew  I  was 
transgressing  the  established  formula.  The  engravers 
were  amused  as  at  a  joke,  but  the  artist  was  delighted 
and  that  was  all  I  cared  for,  except  the  commendation 
of  Drake,  as  it  was  the  first  block  I  engraved  for  the 
Century  Magazine  (then  Scribner's).  When  this,  how- 
ever, and  other  examples  of  the  kind  I  did,  were  shown 
to  Millet — the  great  Frenchman — he  shook  his  head 
depreciatingly  and  remarked,  "ce  n'est  pas  la  grande 
maniere."  Millet  preferred  the  old  style  because  it 
gave  a  rugged  grandeur  to  the  finished  work. 

There  are  fashions  in  art  as  in  dress  and  everything. 
Nothing  seems  to  stay  put.  We  are  in  a  state  of  con- 
tinual flux  and  transition.  We  change  because  condi- 
tions change  and  then  we  in  turn  react  on  conditions: 
action  and  reaction  are  incessantly  at  play.  The  line 
was  the  engrossing  feature  of  the  white-liners  from  the 
time  of  Bewick  down  to  about  the  period  of  the  latter 
half  of  the  nineteenth  century.  The  mysteries  of  light 
and  shade,  delicacy  of  values  and  suavity  of  gradation 
were  problems  that  did  not  occupy  them  as  it  did  the 
later  men.  They  were  satisfied  with  a  general  effect  of 
black  and  white  so  long  as  the  line  evinced  directness  of 
purpose,  self-expression,  and  a  sort  of  virile  dexterity. 


9 


CONSIDERATIONS  ON 


To  modify,  soften,  or  tamper  in  any  way  with  the 
line  when  once  cut  was  deemed  well-nigh  sacrilegious. 
Even  to  cross  a  white  line  with  another  was  against  the 
established  creed.  This  crossing,  however,  was  later 
admitted,  but  only  for  the  purpose  of  giving  a  skin-like 
quality  to  flesh  in  portraits.  The  modern  men  now  use 
cross  white-lining  for  any  desired  nuancing  of  light  or 
texture.  In  those  old  days  orthodoxy  demanded  a  cer- 
tain kind  of  line  for  sky,  another  for  flesh,  hair,  foliage, 
drapery,  water,  rock,  the  bark  of  trees,  foreground,  back- 
ground, etc. ;  all  full  of  meaning  and  beautiful  in  them- 
selves, and,  as  evidenced  in  many  fine  examples  of  the 
time,  worthy  of  preservation. 

The  apprentice  was  schooled  in  these  textures,  just 
as  the  apprentices  of  the  early  primitive  painters  learned 
how  to  draw  the  various  parts  of  the  human  body  or  as 
a  shoemaker  learned  his  trade.  Engraving  was  properly 
a  trade ;  some  apprentices  succeeded  as  sky  and  foliage 
cutters  (they  were  called  pruners);  others  as  coat  or 
drapery  cutters  (they  were  the  tailors) ;  the  more  ad- 
vanced did  flesh  cutting  (they  were  styled  the  butchers). 
I  myself  succeeded  in  cutting  machinery  and  the  sides 
of  houses.  I  was  a  mechanic. 

In  those  days  the  popular  illustrated  weeklies  brought 
out  large  page  engravings  and  sometimes  double-page 
illustrations.  On  these  large  blocks  the  subject  to  be  en- 
graved was  drawn  by  a  draughtsman  in  India-ink  washes 
reinforced  by  lead-pencil  hatching.  The  blocks,  being 
made  in  sections  bolted  together,  were  unbolted  when 
the  drawing  was  completed,  and  the  parts  divided  among 
several  engravers^  who,  sometimes,  when  a  rush  was  on, 

10 


ENGRAVING 


would  work  all  night  and  have  their  several  parts  fin- 
ished by  the  morning.  The  parts  were  then  re-bolted 
together  and  a  master  engraver  finished  the  joining  of 
the  several  parts,  uniting  the  work  in  one  whole.  There 
was  no  art  in  it;  the  engraver  was  but  an  artisan.  A 
hardness  characterized  the  work.  Such  a  quality  as  the 
softness  of  painting  was  never  met  with  in  the  best  work 
of  the  masters  of  that  time. 

Now  a  vigorous  and  enthusiastic  lot  of  young  Ameri- 
can painters  returned  to  New  York  fresh  from  the  Paris 
ateliers,  imbued  with  the  new  truths  of  the  great  Bar- 
bizon  school  of  painters;  and  it  became  apparent  that 
the  old  conventions  were  inadequate  to  a  sympathetic 
rendering  of  their  works.  The  line  had  to  be  tampered 
with  in  order  to  faithfully  render  the  qualities  charac- 
teristic of  each  artist's  manner.  In  other  words,  the 
painting  came  to  be  deemed  more  important  than  the 
exploitation  of  the  engraver's  skill  in  the  production  of 
lines.  The  engravers  discovered  that  no  one  valued 
lines  except  themselves.  All  the  old  conceptions  of  pro- 
ducing textures — a  certain  sort  of  line  for  this  and  an- 
other sort  of  line  for  that— had  to  go.  Photographing 
on  wood  now  superseded  the  draughtsman's  delineation, 
so  that  the  engraver  had  the  actual  touch  of  the  artist 
he  was  to  interpret  confronting  him  by  this  means. 

Wood-engraving  now  took  a  higher  flight.  Contro- 
versies were  not  wanting.  The  older  men  who  clamored 
for  drawings  on  wood  vehemently  assailed  the  new  de- 
parture. The  publishers  warmed  to  the  fray  and  sup- 
ported, with  the  artists  and  the  general  public  interested 
in  art,  the  new  movement.  Polemics  filled  the  air,  but 

ii 


CONSIDERATIONS  ON 


the  young  men  finally  won  out.  A  sincere  emulation 
arose  between  the  engravers,  and  this  was  encouraged  by 
the  Century  Magazine.  Harper's  Magazine  followed 
in  its  wake,  and  the  movement  spread  to  England, 
France  and  Germany. 

Deeper  and  more  vital  questions  now  confronted  the 
engraver  than  ever  perplexed  the  masters  of  earlier 
schools.  A  certain  orchestration  of  color  was  demanded 
— greater  depth,  breadth,  softness,  flatness  of  planes, 
brilliancy,  luminosity,  and  atmosphere — all  involving 
a  more  subtle  sense  of  tonal  gradations  and  a  completer 
apprehension  of  values  than  was  ever  displayed  by  the 
old  school.  In  a  word,  wood-engraving  became  no  longer 
engraving  per  se,  but  painting ;  and,  because  of  the  need 
of  interpreting  this  deeper  artistic  feeling,  the  technical 
difficulties  of  the  engraver  were  increased  manifold.  His 
art,  no  longer  being  subjected  to  the  past  closely  defined 
limitations,  he  was  expected  to  produce  hitherto  un- 
dreamed-of effects  by  developing  to  the  utmost  the  re- 
sources of  his  medium. 

We  used  to  hear  much  of  original  engraving.  An  en- 
graver would  make  an  engraving  from  his  own  drawing, 
which  was  styled  an  original  engraving  to  distinguish 
it  from  one  made  after  some  other  artist's  design  or 
painting.  But  it  should  be  clear  that  every  engraving  is 
an  original  engraving  and  therefore  an  original  work  of 
art,  whether  done  from  the  engraver's  own  drawing  or 
painting  or  from  an  old  master  canvas :  and  to  translate 
with  skill  is  to  create  a  new  work  of  art.  Apropos  of  the 
discussions  and  agitations  naturally  incident  to  the  break 
between  the  old  men  and  the  young  of  the  period  about 


12 


ENGRAVING 


1880,  I  received  on  my  return  to  America  after  an 
absence  of  twenty-seven  years,  the  following  lines,  from 
one  of  the  last  adherents  of  the  old  school,  which 
brought  the  whole  thing  back  as  in  a  dream,  which  he 
entitled  the  "Old  Wood-cut  to  the  New"  and  to  which 
I  responded  in  like  manner  with  "The  New  Wood-cut 
to  the  Old." 

THE  OLD  WOOD-CUT  TO  THE  NEW 
My  fine  friend,  do  not  despise  me  because  I  am  old ; 
Although  the  lines  on  my  face  are  coarse  and  bold, 
Many  are  the  happy  faces  who  have  looked  upon  me, 
And  perhaps  full  as  many  as  you  will  ever  see. 

To  the  New  School  they  tell  me  you  belong, 
While  I  to  the  old  one  that  has  passed  and  gone, — 
Yet  to  you  let  me  meekly  say, 
Look  not  so  proud, — you  will  have  your  day. 

And  as  you  much  younger  may  be, 

I  should  think  you  a  new  process  could  see 

Which  is  rapidly  replacing  both  the  Old  and  the  New, 

And,  being  much  cheaper,  will  soon  do  away  with  you. 

Although  you  boast  a  progenitor  as  grand 
As  ever  engraved  in  this  or  any  other  land — 
"Little  Tim  Cole,"  yet  I  to  a  name  prized  by  many  as  gold, 
A.  Anderson,  America's  Pioneer  Engraver,  who  died,  95  years 
old-  T.  D.  Sugden. 

THE  NEW  WOOD-CUT  TO  THE  OLD 
How  came  you  to  think,  my  father  grown  old, 
That  from  you  I  shrink,  disdainful  and  cold? 
Should  art,  my  dear  fellow,  thus  cause  us  to  stumble, 
And  not  make  us  mellow,  kind-hearted,  and  humble  ? 


13 


CONSIDERATIONS  ON 


'Tis  a  thing  for  regret  that  a  wrong  in  your  head 
Should  have  caused  you  to  fret  all  these  years  that  have  fled. 
Am  not  I  thy  true  kin,  reared  under  thy  thatching  ? — 
The  son  of  thy  burin,  line,  stipple,  cross-hatching? 

I've  little  to  boast  of  peculiar  to  me, 
For  much  that  I've  most  of  is  borrowed  from  thee ; 
From  thee  came  the  textures — those  weavings  so  nice ; — 
All  those  subtle  flexures  that  give  our  work  spice. 

You  taught  me  the  graving  of  rock,  sky,  and  mountain, 
The  tree  in  its  waving,  the  plash  of  the  fountain. 
The  distance  you'd  expound  to  soften  with  care, 
And  plough  up  the  fore-ground  with  vigorous  share. 

The  tooling  of  flesh ! — O  the  mystery  deep ! — 
The  wonderful  mesh  of  the  lines  in  their  sweep ! 
The  eye,  with  its  pupil,  and  bright  spot  of  light ! 
Here  no  line  was  futile,  all  circled  aright. 

O  happy  those  years  of  first  problems  solving ! 
E'en  then  new  ideas  in  the  air  were  evolving ; 
The  photo,  scarce  heeded,  in  infancy  stood, 
But  soon  superseded  the  drawing  on  wood. 

Well,  Line,  then,  you  gave  us,  in  the  Line  lay  your  art ; 
'Twas  Time,  then  that  bade  us  to  forward  our  part. 
For  mark,  the  times  altered  (as  this  golden  age 
Of  cutting  lines  faltered),  and  turned  a  new  page. 

Are  not  all  things  growing,  and  hence  new  creations  ? 
Evolution  is  showing  their  sequent  relations ; 
Thus  old  forms  decay,  giving  newer  ones  birth : — 
That  the  old  must  give  way  is  the  law  of  this  earth. 


I4 


ENGRAVING 


To  proceed :  the  change  found  you  in  many  things  halting ; 
Your  forms  were  unsound,  you  had  "values"  revolting; 
"No  atmosphere,"  "rocky,"  "too  coarse,"  "stiff,"  "prosaic," 
Your  softness  was  "flocky,"  your  hardness  "archaic." 

You  cut  up  the  "masses,"  lost  "breadth"  and  "repose ;" 
It  put  you  with  asses,  and  turned  up  its  nose. 
It  flouted  your  technique,  pronounced  you  hair,  "hairs," 
"Old  fashioned  and  antique ;" — 't  would  none  of  your  wares. 

A  field  of  white  clover,  for  instance,  you'd  turn 
To  a  foaming  white  river  !*  The  artist  would  burn 
With  fierce  indignation,  and  damn  your  presumption, — 
Such  breadth  of  translation,  he  cursed  with  consumption. 

You  struck  back  in  thunder,  the  taunts  you  withstood ; 
This  was  your  worst  blunder,  and  did  you  no  good. 
Like  the  Oak  you  stood  fast  in  the  storm  and  were  broken ; 
We  bent  with  the  blast,  so  the  Reed  be  our  token. 

It  found  thee  defective ;  you  could  not  atone ; 
We  learned  the  corrective,  and  for  this  alone 
We  merit  distinction,  fulfilling  a  need ; 
Why  then  should  extinction  be  only  our  meed  ? 

Farewell,  then,  old  teacher ;  tho'  coarse  be  thy  face, 
I  see  in  each  feature  full  many  a  grace ; 
In  the  temple  of  Fame  may  you  have  a  safe  niche, 
And  if  I'm  by  the  same  I'll  forever  be  rich. 

"Little  Tim  Cole." 

*  An  instance  with  W.  J.  Linton,  in  my  recollection. 


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